


When Waves Come Crashing Down

by ADAlternatively



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: A 'What Could Have' happened on the way down the mountain, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, But only a brief look into it, First Kiss, Fix-It of Sorts, Getting Together, In the form of Metaphors, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier POV, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Lots of Anxiety Talk, M/M, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, but I can't end it in angst, i wanted to write angst, too many feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:34:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23089450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADAlternatively/pseuds/ADAlternatively
Summary: Jaskier had been living in a world of ‘what if’s’ for as long as he can remember. A world of endless possibilities, spurred on by his refusal to slow down and wait. Jaskier wanted to leave a mark, make history, sail his own oceans. So he did.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 16
Kudos: 251





	When Waves Come Crashing Down

**Author's Note:**

> This entire idea started out going to be a twitter thread. And then, well, it just kept growing.  
> I hope you all enjoy!

Jaskier had been living in a world of ‘what if’s’ for as long as he can remember. A world of endless possibilities, spurred on by his refusal to slow down and wait. In his chest he held an ocean. Fierce and unyielding, wild and his alone. And yet, he walked its beaches as if the waves could not touch him. Even before he had left Oxenfurt, he had decided he didn’t want to live his life the way other’s saw fit. He wanted to leave a mark, make history, sail his own oceans.

And then he’d met Geralt. In a shoddy tavern that was less than welcoming to a young bard with an old lute and an odd gleam in his eye. He’d spotted the Witcher before he’d finished singing his raunchy jig. He hadn’t been frightened by the man. In fact, the moment he’d looked at him he’d known that his story was just beginning, if the crashing of the waves in his chest had been any indication. That he had to follow this man to find what he had been missing his whole life.

And so he followed him out of that tavern. To the ‘devil’ that was no devil at all. To the elves that were starving and sick. And he realized that this Witcher, Geralt, was more good than any human he’d met.

He’s not sure at what point he realized he’d fallen for the silver haired wolf. Unsure if it was a slow descent or a sudden drop. But it scared him none-the-less. He was scared. He’d been in love before sure. Fleeting sorts of love. Hell, he fell in love with almost everyone he met. But it wasn’t like this, it wasn’t this type of love. He fell in love with people for the small things about them he noticed. Their mannerisms and quirks. Their beauty and handsomeness. The way they sang or danced or lived so freely.

But Jaskier had never experienced a love like this. His heartbeat heavy like a drum in his chest, his lungs burned like fire. He knew this was no fleeting love. There was no escaping this one's grasp. He also knew that there was little chance of anything coming of it. So he didn’t bring it up. 

And so he follows Geralt as often as he can manage for the next two decades. Dangers around every corner, but rarely worried for his life. The djinn had been perhaps the weakest his resolve had been and once he recovered thanks to the scary witch, Yennefer, he’d made the choice to push down the feelings with more fervor. He refused to allow his feelings get in the way of the friendship he had painstakingly built up with the bristly Witcher. He wouldn’t allow his treacherous heart to rob him of his friend.

After the incident in Cintra, they separated again. And Jaskier spent too much time writing love songs. Love songs he didn’t feel right singing to crowds, so he sang them to himself. When he and Geralt meet up along the path, he keeps these songs hidden away. He’s certain the Witcher would toss him aside if he knew the truth of his feelings. So he sits quietly while they eat away at his insides. Geralt asks him many times throughout their traveling together, more so after the djinn incident, if he is okay. He’s quiet, pensive, not like the Jaskier he’d grown to know. Jaskier isn’t sure how to respond, so he laughs him off. He is fine after all, physically. Emotionally he’s in turmoil. The waves crashing against his rib cage like a beating drum. He’s not sure how much longer he can stay afloat.

By some stroke of a miracle, he is still on the shores when they end up on the same path again. This time on the hunt for a dragon. Jaskier is less than pleased when Geralt agrees only after seeing Yennefer. It makes him nervous. Jaskier may not have the best sense, but he knows when to trust his gut. And though he tries to talk Geralt out of the hunt multiple times throughout their trip up the mountain, he knows it’s for naught.

“Why don’t we leave tomorrow? That is, if you’ll give me another chance to prove myself a worthy travel companion. We could head to the coast. Get away for awhile.” And gods isn’t that the closest to a confession he’s gotten.

Geralt refuses to leave, as is expected. And so Jaskier relents. He watches Geralt go off to Yennefer’s tent and he feels his heart clenching. The waves crashing higher onto the shore. He’s certain they will swallow him whole. His sleep is fitful, and he wakes later than he had hoped. He scrambles up the mountain in time to witness the finality of an obvious fight between Geralt and Yennefer.

It doesn’t ease the crashing of waves in his chest like he thought it would, it makes the waves crash harder. So, he begins to speak, trying to drown out the cacophony of the waves. He knows he shouldn’t, that Geralt is probably hurting, but he can’t stop himself. And the moment he opens his mouth he feels the words pour out. The waves are crashing over him now, and he’s barely afloat. 

And then Geralt is yelling at him. Blaming him for all of his problems. For all of his mistakes. And the crashing is louder, he can barely hear over it now. But he hears Geralt yelling, and he tries to tell him that this isn’t fair. But he’s still yelling. And Jaskier is drowning now. The waves crashing harder over top of him, threatening to drown him. He knew this day would come. He knew it would, and yet he allowed himself to get comfortable. To grow attached. So he lets Geralt yell, “If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.”

The waves break over his head, again and again. Somehow he feels his lungs take in a breath. He’s talking now. Quietly. As if he’ll shatter. As if he isn’t already shattered.

“Right. Uh. Right then. I’ll go get the rest of the story from the others.” He pauses, his mouth impossibly dry, the waves still crashing. “See you around Geralt.” Jaskier turns to leave, the waves crashing, his throat tight, tears in his eyes.

He’s unsure how his feet stay steady enough to make it back to their campsite from the night before. Or how his hands are steady enough to pack up the few things he has. He decides following the dwarves down the mountain is his best bet to making it down alive. So he stays quiet, allows the waves to continue crashing over him, and follows them. They try to talk to him, get him to play for them. But he brushes them off. He hasn’t found his voice yet. The waves are finally dying down enough so that he can see the skyline. They make it back to their previous camp before sundown and decide to take a break, the rest can be traveled in the morning. Jaskier takes up a spot near a tree, pressing his back into the rough bark and silently pleading for anything to take away the burning in his throat and the tears threatening to well in his eyes. His lute is beside him, and his fingers wander to it on their own accord. Pulling it to him and playing soft notes, it’s a few moments before he realizes it was the ballad he had been working on in the days prior to the mountain trip.

The waves are quieter now, still swarming up to his chest, but no longer filling his lungs. He hums softly, testing out his voice. The dwarves are intrigued, wondering if he’d changed his mind about entertainment after all. He supposes he has. So he plays through the song again, this time singing out the lyrics. He watches as the dwarves close their eyes, listening to the quiet melody. He knows it’s not like his normal songs, it’s much sadder. 

The waves are no longer crashing, gently lapping at his feet on the shore. The sky is dark now, the smoke of their small fire drifting into the night air. The dwarves ask for him to sing it again, so he begins again, somehow refining the lyrics to perfection. He can hear the heavy footsteps coming down the trail behind him and knows that Geralt has finally decided to come off of the mountain. He doesn’t stop singing.

Jaskier fully expects the man to continue down the mountain. So he’s surprised when he hears Geralt drop down to his knees beside him. He glances over at him, his fingers still skimming along the notes. His voice is low, his voice cracking as he takes in Geralt’s distressed features.

“I'm weak my love, and I am wanting

If this is the path I must trudge

I welcome my sentence

Give to you my penance

Garrotter, jury and judge”

He tears his eyes from the Witcher before the golden ones land on him. The dwarves are still listening, although they are also making their way toward the other edge of the wood. Giving Jaskier their thanks as they retire for the night. He nods to them as the song comes to an end, the dwarves as far from him and Geralt as they can get in this clearing.

He sets his lute down beside him and leans back against the tree. Ignoring the Witcher. The waves in his chest were starting to crash again, threatening to topple him. 

If he weren’t listening so intently he would miss the soft “Jaskier...” Geralt lets out. He turns his attention back to the Witcher, allowing himself to catch the golden eyes staring at him. Geralt hears another pained “Jaskier...” 

“What, Geralt?” Jaskier muttered, forcing himself to turn his gaze back to the dying fire. 

He hears the Witcher ‘hmm’ softly before starting to speak. “I...” He hears the Witcher struggling, but he doesn’t want to help him. He’s stuck on his shore, the waves lapping their way up his legs again. “You...” He’s trying, Jaskier can hear that much. “Jaskier... Please.” He hears Geralt’s voice break and he’s not sure that’s ever happened before. “Please look at me...”

Jaskier sucks in a deep breath and turns to look at him. Their eyes meet, and Jaskier can see the desperation in their hazel swirls.

“You are the greatest blessing life has given me.” Geralt says, reaching out for Jaskier’s hands. 

Not that this was an odd gesture for them. When Geralt needed to ground himself he would seek out Jaskier’s hands. Rubbing over the soft calluses from playing the lute, tracing the veins up his wrists. Jaskier was always pleased to know he was helping Geralt calm himself. But now his body felt like it was on fire. The waves were crashing harder again. But then Geralt was holding onto his hands, rubbing over his palm with his thumb, pulling the other hand up to his cheek, inhaling at his pulse point. Jaskier shivers lightly but keeps his gaze steady.

“I’m sorry Jaskier. I didn’t mean a word of it.” The bright eyes are searching his own, and he lets them. “I’m so sorry. Please don’t...” Geralt stops, clamping his mouth shut, fear flashing through his eyes.

“Don’t what?” Jaskier asks after a moment of quiet, allowing his thumb to brush over Geralt’s cheek softly, this is the first time Geralt has let his hand touch his face like this. It’s soft, despite the stubble.

“Don’t leave me...” Jaskier hears the whisper, and he’s not sure how to respond. “Don’t let me fuck this up, not like this... Not this... I can live with Yennefer hating me... But not you... Never you...” He can feel Geralt shaking slightly. “Please... Don’t hate me... Don’t leave me...”

Jaskier sighs softly and pulls his hand free of Geralt’s grasp, moving it to his shoulder and pulling him closer, until the White Wolf’s head is against his chest. He lays a hand on his back. “Shh. Shh, my wolf.” He murmurs, rubbing his back softly, his other hand tangling into soft silver hair. “I do not hate you. I could never hate you my dear friend.” He pets Geralt’s hair softly, reassuringly. He feels the shaking subside slowly. His hand still rubbing his wolf’s back.

“Jaskier...” He hears the deep grumble.

“Hmm.” He murmurs back, not wanting to break this quiet moment.

“I... The song...” Jaskier freezes for a brief moment, before resuming the soft pets.

“Yes?”

“It’s about me.” Geralt says quietly, it’s not a question.

“It is.” Jaskier doesn’t bother arguing.

“It’s sad...” Geralt whispers.

“It is.”

“I don’t want to make you sad.” Geralt is pushing himself up slightly, no longer laying on Jaskier’s chest. But staring at him, golden eyes bright under the moonlight. Jaskier can feel his lungs burning. The waves rising dangerously again. 

Jaskier shrugs. “It’s okay Geralt. I’m fine.” He averts his gaze again, staring at the dying embers of the once warm fire. 

“I’m not a poet like you, Jaskier, I can’t string together pretty words for you to understand...” Geralt says softly and Jaskier looks back at him.

“I don’t need pretty words and rhymes, I just want honesty. It’s all I’ve ever asked for Witcher.” Jaskier says, the waves crashing over his head once again.

“I...” He’s quiet for a moment. And Jaskier thinks that maybe this will be the end of the conversation. “Let’s go to the coast.” 

Jaskier’s eyes flick up quickly, catching the desperation and the want in Geralt’s eyes. He’d used it as a confession the day prior. Even if Geralt hadn’t known it, or perhaps he had.

“You want to go to the coast?” he asked quietly.

“I want to go wherever you want to go.” Geralt says softly, and Jaskier can tell that he means it.

His breath catches.“You want to go with me, wherever I want to go?” Jaskier asks. The waves crashing harder, louder.

Geralt nods and moves closer, their shoulders bumping softly. 

“Are you trying to say what I think you’re trying to say?” Jaskier asks, the waves deafening. 

Geralt nods again and pauses. “Do... You?”

Jaskier can barely hear past the waves, so he nods. He does.

Geralt swings one leg over Jaskier and he’s straddling him now. Geralt leans their foreheads against one another and Jaskier is staring into those golden eyes, they seem to glow. 

He licks his bottom lip nervously and watches as Geralt’s eyes pick up the movement and dilate. “May I?”

Jaskier freezes again. He feels like he’s drowning. Drowning in the waves. Drowning in the golden eyes. Drowning.

But then he nods.

And Geralt is pressing their lips together, his eyelids flutter shut, and it’s soft. Not desperate like he had thought it would be. But slow, and sweet, and tender. 

And the waves stop crashing. The water stills at his feet. His lungs fill with air as they pull apart. And he feels like he can truly breathe again. 

  
  
  


Jaskier wanted to leave a mark, make history, sail his own oceans. 

So he did.

**Author's Note:**

> [Check me out on Twitter!](https://twitter.com/AndieDeclyn)


End file.
